


The Sentinel

by The_Black_Sun



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, E-Rating will come later, F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Not good with tagging, Other, Post-Canon, Sex, Sex Toys, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Somewhat-I just change when something happened not that it happened at all, Temporary Character Death, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:30:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25320136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Black_Sun/pseuds/The_Black_Sun
Summary: We all know about the Old Guard, immortal warriors destined to save humanity. But do you know about the Old Watch? Immortal scholars destined to remember history as it is, not as the victors. But there are some of the Watch destined for something greater. The Sentinel is destined to follow and record the acts of the Old Guard. There can be only one Sentinel, though, and three have come, three have fallen.This is the story of the Fourth.Disclaimer: I do not own The Old Guard movie or comics, nor any of their characters, sadly.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker|Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe|Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky|Nicolo di Genova/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	1. Prologue

We all know of the Old Guard, immortal warriors of the ages, destined to save humanity, to save those destined themselves to bear greatness generations down the line. They die, only to wake again healed, to dream of their brothers and sisters in arms until they meet.

But what we don’t know of is the Old Watch. Fellow immortals whose destiny is to watch, to learn, to remember. They die, only to wake again healed, to dream of great archives, buried deep beneath the sea, beneath the earth, until they arrive. Most are destined to record, to gather the art, the literature, the culture, the knowledge, of each land, of each age, to restore history. But some, some are destined for greater things. Some wake again healed, to dream of great archives, and great warriors. It is these Watchers whose destiny it is to follow the Guard and record history as they carve it. And so they bear the title of Sentinel, there to protect the Guard from history.

There is only ever one Sentinel at a time, and none but the Watchers are aware of them. The First was young when he was remade, left mortal once again, caught in a battle with Andromache the Scythian and Quynh, known to them only as Lykon. The Second was more watchful, more cautious than his forebear, until he, too, was remade, at the beginning of the Crusades. The Third was less diligent, less cautious of the passage of time, and was remade during the Witch Trials, caught unaware just weeks before Andromache and Quynh were themselves. The Fourth is older than her forebears, having lived millenia in the Great Archives before she dreamt of the Guard. She is more careful, more diligent than them all.

And this is her story.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise beforehand about my writing, I am dyslexic so I rely on auto-correct a lot and struggle to notice mistakes otherwise, and I always have a formal way with words when writing. If anyone sees any mistakes or thinks I could word something better, just let me know in the comments and I'll try to fix it ASAP.  
> I also apologise because I will try to post chapters quickly, but I have a kooky work schedule so that may not happen.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

**Great Archives, 1587**

The water dripped gently from the hand pump in the corner of the room, the drops echoing lowly. It was a recent addition to the Great Archives, introduced about 350 years ago after one of the Watchers brought record of its development in Egypt and they convened to discuss the necessity of its installation for historical purposes.  
It served now as a soothing consonance to the sleeping Watchers, a melodic lullaby of droplets, interrupted only by the shifting of cloth and the slow breathing.

The skies outside were still dark with night when one of the Watchers gasped, jerking from sleep in a violent twist, falling from her bed with a muffled thump. Her fellow Watchers woke at her thump, summoned from sleep by her panicked breaths.

One reached out, feeling along the wall for the lamp hung by his bed and, with quick, sure movements, he had the wick lit and oil burning, giving light to the darkened hall.

Now able to see, the Watchers rose and gathered around the bed nearest the door, reaching soothing hands to the one huddled on the stone.

“What did you see?” whispered one of the Watchers, still young and inexperienced in such situations.

The gasps continued for several moments more, until she regained enough sense of self to slow them to a more steady rhythm, and she could choke out, “The Sentinel has fallen, a Fourth has been chosen.”

The tension in the room rose, until one dared to break it. “Have you been called, Sister?”

“Yes Brother, I am to go to England at once,” she murmured, her heart now calm and even, her features serene in the face of such upheaval, as though it was long expected. “I will need one to accompany me, to see to a related matter of great importance.”

The youthful Watcher of before spoke up then, “I will join you Sister.”

She nodded her acceptance, and that was that. The Watchers dispersed to ready themselves for the day ahead, to make preparations and gather provisions for their Brother and Sister’s journey from the Great Archives, around the continent, to England. They would travel to the mainland and hire a ship to take them to the docks of London, and from there travel on foot along their destined paths.

**Port of Palermo**

The two Watchers stood together on the docks of Palermo, protected from the bright sun by loose clothing and cloaks. They garnered many curious looks from the ship merchants and dock workers alike, for they made a truly unusual sight. A tall, ebony skinned man with long black hair, braided and beaded elaborately with metal and wood and feathers alike, and deep brown eyes. He stood with an equally tall woman with skin like the richest, most golden honey, hair like starlight that fell in wild curls to her waist, and eyes like amethyst.

Eventually, after many fascinated stares, the two managed to garner passage to the Ports of London with a spice merchant passing through from Turkey.

**Port of London**

Finally, after a long two weeks, the Watchers finally landed in London, exactly where they needed to be, and when they needed to be there.

“Come, Baraka,” the female Watcher commanded, “we must find them fast, before they part.” And so, together, the two walked the streets of London, searching for the imprisoned Guard.

After three days of searching, and nights spent dreaming, the Watchers finally found their charges. They were a mess, chained and bloody, covered with their own faeces and the dirt and spit of their jailors.

Baraka looked on for a long moment, and then asked, “What do we do now, Sister?”

She stared back at him evenly. “We wait Brother. Soon, they will take one to a Maiden, and she will be cast away. You will follow, and find her. By any means necessary. Return with her to the France Archives, but do not inform her of the Watchers. Let her believe what you will, as long as the Watch stays buried. I will follow the other. She will lead me to the rest of the Guard.”

“As you command, my Sister. May you Watch be long, and your Charges live longer.” With that, Baraka spun on his heel and walked away, to find a shadowed corner to await the moving of his Charge.  
The female Watcher stared after him for a short time, until someone pushed by her and she moved on herself to find a space to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I chose the name of the Watcher for two reasons. 1, I couldn't just keep calling him 'The Watcher' or 'Brother', and 2, because Baraka because it means 'Blessing', which I thought both apt and amusing for an ever-healing immortal.  
> The chapters will also hopefully get longer, I will do my best to make sure they have 1000+ words per chapter, more if possible.  
> Also, I have tried to make things as historically accurate as possible, such as finding two ports that were around in the 1500's, but I am a rather lazy person so I may use less accurate stuff in the future.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in the modern age, baby! So I decided to set this fic during 2019, mostly because I don't wanna have to deal with the Covid-19 outbreak and I didn't feel like ignoring it either so... meh. You got a problem with that, don't come crying to me about it, it's your problem, not mine.

**Copley’s House, 2019**

Nanshe grumbled internally as she shifted in place again, for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Why do they have to choose the home of the most paranoid person ever,” she muttered under her breath, readjusting once more.

She had spent the past 500 years as Sentinel, and never had it seemed so boring until now, when they finally stopped moving and stayed somewhere without picking a fight every day. But then Nanshe thought back on what had led them to this point, and thought that maybe, just maybe, they deserved a small break, especially after Booker’s betrayal. ‘Although,’ she mused, ‘he would not be so alone as he thought.’

But her inner musings were interrupted suddenly as she heard a leaf rustle behind her, and she spun, only to find herself face to face with the very people she was supposed to Watch, Andromache stood at the forefront.

“Who are you?” Andromache demanded, gun held steady, barrel aimed directly at her right eye. “Why are you watching us?”

Nanshe stayed silent, her face expressionless. Andromache twitched, getting ready to squeeze the trigger when--

“WAIT!”

It was Nile who had shouted, arm outstretched toward her leader as she turned her back upon Nanshe.

Andromache froze, eyes shooting from her to Nile, disbelief clear on her face.

Nile ignored her for the minute though. She turned back around to face Nanshe, pausing to gather her thoughts for a second before looking up again. She seemed confused. “I’ve seen you before, I think, in my dreams. But how? I thought we only dreamed about each other?”

Her words surprised Nanshe, but then she shuddered suddenly, her eyes rolling up into her head as she dropped to the ground, sending everyone racing for their guns again. She lay there for many minutes, body still but eyes moving beneath their lids, seeing something only she could. But then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped, and her eyes popped back open, and she rolled gracefully back to her feet.

“It would appear it is time,” she murmured, her voice deep and rich, with an unidentifiable accent rolling her r slightly.

It was Copley who spoke this time. “What do you mean, ‘it is time’? What is time?”

Nanshe simply tilted her head toward him, eyes meeting. “Perhaps we can take this somewhere less... open?” The words asked, but it was clear to all that she was telling them, not asking, and for some unknown reason… they listened.

No words were shared as they made their way inside Copley’s house and up the stairs into his room with the Guard’s recent history, they were instead blanketed by tense, uncomfortable silence. No one sat once they were inside, the Guard simply arranged themselves so that Yusuf and Nicolo stood between Nanshe and Andromache, ‘A living shield,’ whispered the dark, morbid part of Nanshe’s mind.

It was again Copley that spoke.

“Alright,” he said, “We’re here, so answer our questions. What’s time?”

Nanshe gave a slow smile. “What do you know of immortals?” she asked, and everybody froze.

Tense seconds ticked by, then Nile hesitantly said, “That we’re warriors, able to heal any wound, until we can’t.”

“You are not incorrect, bambino,” Nanshe said, “But you are not correct at the same time.”

This time it was Yusuf who stepped forth, demanding, “What do you mean, not wrong, not right?”

“I mean,” Nanshe sighed, “That we are able to heal any wound, die any death and yet live, but we are not all warriors. There are those--” She was cut off by a collective “WHAT?!” from everyone before her. Her voice sharpened. “If you want to know more, you will stay silent until I am done talking!”

Instantly, everyone’s voices subsided, fading into silence as they stared at her intently, waiting for her to continue.

She gave a small, slight nod before she spoke again. “As I was saying, not all immortals are warriors. You all are of the Old Guard, destined to fight wars and save humanity by ensuring the births of mortal heroes. I, and others, are of the Old Watch. It is our destiny to record history, culture, everything. We travel from land to land, learn the culture and history and legend, see their innovations, their armies. We learn everything, so that mistakes are not repeated needlessly.” Here she paused, face morphing into a frown as she considered what she should divulge next. “We… we keep this information safe, in great Archives deep beneath the earth, or even the sea in some cases. Mostly what is stored there is written, our own or even others accounts of historical events, or books, first editions and such of literature. But sometimes, sometimes we cannot simply write what we see, and so we store also items, inventions, or their blueprints if we could not bring it with us. We have updated most of these Archives as time has changed, using technology to help us preserve everything, and scanning it all into an air-gapped database so that we have many copies, should something happen to the originals.

“But not all Watchers are destined for the Archives. Some are meant for a greater, more dangerous purpose.” Nanshe’s eyes lifted, meeting each of the ones gathered before her. “There is only ever one immortal meant for this, and we call them the Sentinel. It is their duty to Watch the Guard, hiding them from sight, recording their ventures, their battles.” Her eyes closed, a single tear rolling its way down her cheek.

The people stood before her confused, wondering how there could be others like them, watching them, without their knowing about it. They wondered why they felt sorry for this woman, this Watcher, that they had caught, why the sight of her tear was like a punch through their chests.

“How long have you been watching us?” Andromache asked, finally having had enough, demanding answers.

Nanshe’s eyes blinked open to stare right at her, and she said nothing for a minute. “I have been Watching you, Andromache, ever since the Witch Trials.”

The air changed then, becoming charged as Andromache took an intimidating step forward, pushing past Yusuf and Nicolo.

“What? You mean to tell me you just stood there while... while they dragged Quynh away, chained her in that coffin, while they threw her into the sea?!” She suddenly charged at Nanshe, fearless even in her mortality, driven by her rage.

Yusuf and Nicolo tried to stop her, tried to catch one of her arms, but she was just too fast for them, too taken by fury to be stopped. Andromache raced toward Nanshe, gun raised, ready to shoot, but Nanshe was already moving. She was spinning, popping up suddenly behind Andromache, and she had the gun dropping to the floor with one well placed nerve-pinch, rendering Andromache’s right arm useless for the moment. But Andromache was not so easily stopped. She was already reaching with her left arm, leg swinging to catch Nanshe’s feet from out beneath her.

Their fight continued for several minutes, a beautiful mix of blurs, both women moving too fast for the eye to see, evenly matched even with one arm unusable to Andromache. Nile was being held back by Nicolo, too young to understand that this was Andromache’s fight, not theirs. Yusuf was barely holding himself back, his hands bunched into fists at his sides, shoulders tense. Copley was just watching with a curious, if slightly detached, air.

Eventually, Nanshe seemed to have had enough, and in two seconds she had Andromache’s arms behind her back, just shy of being dislocated. Her free hand snaked around to circle Andromache’s neck, exerting barely-there pressure, but it’s enough to shock Andromache into stillness, reminded of her mortality like a bucket of water was dumped over her head.

“Are you done, Andromache?” Nanshe asks, voice mildly exasperated, though with a touch of amusement.

Andromache gives one more useless tug at her arms before slumping down, nodding her head once in defeat.

“Good,” Nanshe says, letting go of her wrists and throat and stepping away from her in one smooth motion. “To answer your question, yes, I did. I did stand by and watch as they forced Quynh into the Iron Maiden. I watched them load her onto a ship and sail away, to drop her into her watery prison.”

The others are all shocked. How could she sound so emotionless, so callous, about the fact that she’d let people drop an iron coffin into the sea with a human being inside?

Andromache is left gasping, choking for air as Nanshe’s words slam into her. “Why?” She gasps, “Why would you let that happen to her, to anyone?”

Nanshe sighs. “Because it was not my destiny to save Quynh, it was my destiny to Watch Andromache. Each Sentinel chooses a different way to Watch, and it was my choice to be removed from your lives... Until now.

“Besides, it’s not like she spent long in the water. She was found after 59 years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bambino--Child


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that I'm in love with the voices (and the people themselves, but mostly the voices) of Marawa Kenzari (Joe), Matthias Schoenhaerts (Booker) and Luca Marinelli (Nicky). I just keep watching the movie over and over and I just love listening to their voices, their accents are so soothing and lovely. Don't get me wrong I love Charlize Theron and KiKi Layne as well, and they have lovely voices, I just personally prefer the others voices. Listening to them speaking Italian in Marrakesh almost makes me swoon every time.

**Copley’s House 2019**

“Besides, it’s not like she spent long in the water. She was found after 59 years.”

Nanshe’s words are spoken lightly, almost carelessly, appearing as though this should have been common knowledge. But if one looked closely, they would see the calculating gleam in her amethyst eyes that watched the Guard carefully for their reactions. She is not disappointed.

Their reactions are instant. Andromache pales, stumbling back from her to be caught by Yusuf and Nicolo, who had reached instantly for each other and their leader. Nile stands confused, unsure of what to do. Copley still watches them curiously. No one says anything for a second.

It is Nile who speaks then, sounding so young and unsure that it makes Nanshe’s heart ache. “But… if she’s free then why do I dream of her dr-drowning? Why isn’t she here?”

Nanshe pauses, face dropping in sadness. “When we dream of other immortals, we dream of them, their life, their day... Quynh spent 59 years beneath the sea, dying, over and over again. That means she drowned no less than half a million times before she was found. That sort of trauma does unprecedented things to a person’s psyche, things we don’t know well how to treat, to help.” Her eyes locked with Nile’s. “You dream of her drowning over and over, because to Quynh... she is. Her mind was broken by her prison, and 400 years has done little to alleviate her pain.”

That knowledge proves to be too much for Andromache. Her legs collapse beneath her and a keening wail escapes her throat. Nicolo tries to give her comfort, to hold her as she breaks, but she fights his touch, kicking and wailing against him, and Yusuf pulls him away, into the embrace of his arms. Nile is shocked, even Copley shows some measure of discomfort at the psychological trauma immortals can suffer.

Nanshe ignores them though, lowering herself to her knees and shuffling forward to Andromache, dodging her swift feet, to pull her softly, slowly, against her chest, slowly rocking back and forth with her, humming a lullaby none but Andromache could recognise. For a long time her humming is the only sound to accompany Andromache’s wails, though after a while they begin to taper off, stopping only when Andromache has exhausted herself to sleep.

Nanshe holds her for a few minutes longer before looking up to Yusuf, asking him, “Can you bring her to the car?”

“Si, certo.” Is all he says before releasing Nicolo with a light peck and bending down to fit one arm beneath Andromache’s legs, and the other behind her back, careful not to jolt her bullet wound too much.

“Grazie mille.”

Together, the Old Guard and Nanshe left Copley standing in his home and went outside to split into two cars. Nanshe told Nile to follow her car and, if she got lost, to head to Folkstone and wait there to board the Eurotunnel Le Shuttle to Calais. Then, Nanshe got into her car with Yusuf and Nicolo in the back seat, and Nile got into their car with Andromache laid over the back seat.

**Goussainville, 2019**  
After constant driving for several hours, Nanshe pulls her car into the abandoned church area of Goussainville, Nile right behind her. Yusuf and Nicolo are both, seemingly, asleep until she parks the car, and then they are awake and out the doors, rushing over to their car and opening the back door to reveal Andromache still asleep across the back seat. While Yusuf stands with Nile as she leaves the car, Nicolo is slowly easing Andromache out into his arms, cradling her gently against his chest. As soon as he has straightened Yusuf and Nile are flanking him, guns tucked securely into their waistbands. Nile, looking around cautiously, asks, “Why are we back here?”

Nanshe does not answer, simply says, “Come.” and walks through the desecrated church, bodies gone but blood still strewn everywhere. She leads them down into the basement and over to a darkened corner. Here there is less dust and age, and Nanshe reaches out, runs her fingers over the stone wall until they catch on a loose brick and she pulls it free, sticking her other hand into the gap created. Her arm tugs, and suddenly there’s a grinding sound as the wall moves, pushing back and aside until a yawning hole is left behind. Nanshe reaches in, presses another button, and light floods the dark space, showing a staircase that goes down, deep into the earth.

Nanshe gestures for them to start their descent down the stairs, but Yusuf stands firm, Nicolo and Andromache pressed between him and Nile still. “Not until you tell us why. Why should we go? And what is down there?”

She sighs, muttering under her breath in an unknown language, even to Yusuf and Nicolo, old as they are, before glaring at him. “She is down there. That is why, that is what. Now go, before I throw you  
down those stairs.”

Yusuf and Nicolo hold a silent conversation, borne of centuries of life and love together, before apparently coming to an agreement, and then Yusuf is making his way slowly down the stairs, Nicolo and Andromache just behind him, and Nile behind them, head turned to listen to Nanshe as she stepped through the wall and closed the door before following them.

Their distrust of her is obvious, and it makes Nanshe chuckle internally because she knows they’re going to have to get used to her at some point. _‘I wonder what they will say to what comes next. Will they try to kill me? Or just shoot me?’_ Pushing those thoughts away, Nanshe continues on behind them as they descend further, deeper into the bowels of the earth.

Nile speaks after a minute, asks her, “Where are we?”

She considers not answering for a moment, but says, “We are in one of the entrance points of the Paris Catacombs. This stairway has limited access to the rest of the tunnels, all points of which are carefully guarded and hidden, and takes us down beneath the tunnels, to the France Archive.”

“The France Archive?” Nicolo asks. “What’s that?”

“You remember I told you about the Watchers destiny. Around the world, buried underground, we built Archives to store the written word, art, even smaller inventions, and the blueprints of larger ones. We immerse ourselves into a culture, learn everything there is to know about them, and we record it all, their language, myths, religion, wars, and so on.” Nanshe paused for a second as they navigated around a tight corner, delving ever further down. “As we amassed more cultures, we began building other Archives, newer, smaller in a sense, to store even more information. The France Archive is our newest, carved from the earth by the same people that mined the Catacombs, guided by us of course,” she chuckles, “and was only built because there has been so much innovation in Europe. Before this Archive came the Amazon Archive, some 700 years before, and the Canada Archive 800 years before that, and so on.”

“How many archives are there?” Nile asks, genuinely curious, and Nanshe is struck by the errant thought that Nile would have made for a good Watcher, before she shakes it off to answer her.

“Of the Archives we have built, 10 still stand. We lost many young Archives to floods and earthquakes within their first century of being built, so we learned early to make more than one copy of any information in the Archives. Some were also found by looters and tomb raiders,” Nanshe paused and shook her head, amused. “They do not take well to finding their ‘loot’ already claimed.” She sighed, “That was not a fun century, raiders kept coming back and killing me over and over before I could get what was left to the other Archives.”

“Did no one come to help?” Nile asks, genuinely confused in her young immortality.

Nanshe laughs, a great booming sound that echoes along the walls. “You have much to learn,” she says, “But this happened during the time of Christ, long before even the postal system was invented, and there were enough of us for only one Archive each back then, if that, and I was forced to care for two Archives by myself when its Watcher was remade during the Roman conflicts. It was made more difficult when another Watcher was forced to flee his Archive because the locals called him a demon, and he could not return. He was on his way south, to the Sahara Archive to train and take over so the Watcher could in turn take over his Archive, when the first looters reached my Archive, beneath what you now call Syria. There is nothing left there now but the bones of those looters.”

Even Yusuf and Nicolo are left awed by her words, by the knowledge that she was older than all of them except for Andromache. It’s inspiring to hear how dedicated she was, is, to her work though, to spend 100 years being killed simply by refusing to abandon one of the archives.

They carry on in silence for a while after that, the only sounds are their feet on stone and their breath in the air.

Eventually, after maybe another 20 minutes, the stairway evens out onto flat stone, worn smooth at the middle from age, but still roughly hewn at the edges. The walls also widen out a few feet, allowing more room than the narrow steps. Taking advantage of the extra space, Nanshe slips by Nile, then Nicolo and Andromache, to walk just in front and to the right of Yusuf. It is a great display of trust, to show him her back, and Yusuf is well aware of it.

Their silence is broken momentarily by Nanshe as she warns them, “Be careful not to stray from this path, we are now in the Catacombs proper, and you will not be able to make your way out alone.”

Nicolo, in a mild show of petulance, mutters under his breath, just enough for them all to hear, “Don’t be so sure.”

Nanshe stops and spins to face them. Her face is hard, cold, as she says, “There are hundreds of kilometers if not miles of tunnels down here, warped by age, such that even we who helped carve it do not know all of its secrets."

Silence follows for a second. She’s just turning back, to carry onwards, when Nicolo says quietly, “Mi scusa. It has been a long day.”

She replies, “Tu sei perdonata.”

They make the rest of the journey in silence, walking and twisting down tunnels, descending even more stairs, taking the best part of an hour, before, eventually, they come to an end in their current tunnel. Nanshe doesn’t skip a beat, simply walks right up to the end wall and--knocks?

The three behind her are surprised when the sound that comes is a very wooden, hollow sound. They are even more surprised when, a minute later, the wall starts to swing back, into the space behind it, hinged like a door.

Stepping forward, Nanshe turns part-way and looks at the Guard, and beckons them to follow her into this unknown territory. And to their surprise... they do.

They walk forward with a confidence they don’t truly feel, Yusuf and Nile still keeping Nicolo and Andromache between them, and slowly, cautiously, walk through the doorway. And then, once Nile is clear, the door swings back shut with nary a whisper on the rock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I forgot to say last chapter, but I chose the name Nanshe because she was the Mesopotamian goddess of social justice and prophecy. A lot of the names for my OC's will have some hidden meaning to them, I'll try to remember to explain as I go.  
> Translations:  
> Si, certo--Yes, of course  
> Grazie Mille--Many thanks  
> Mi scusa--I apologise  
> Tu sei perdonata--You are forgiven


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry it's not as long as I'd hoped, but I found that I couldn't really go passed this ending without needing another chapter. But, enjoy! Comments and kudos are welcome, blah blah, all that stuff. Have fun.

_**"Arabic"** _

**France Archive, 2019**

When Nile walks into the France Archive, she’s not quite sure what she was expecting, but it’s certainly not this. They’re standing on a balcony type thing, which leads to some more stairs down. In her head she was imagining, like, a massive room with walls of stone and old, dusty wooden shelves all dimly lit, but what she sees is nothing like that. Sure, the walls are made of stone, but it's been smoothed down and carved with intricate drawings, and she thinks she sees some sort of hieroglyphs mixed in with them. But instead of dusty shelves, or even ones made of wood, the room is brightly lit by racks of lights hanging on the ceiling, which is carved and polished much like the walls, Nile absently notes, and the floor is filled with pressurised, glass and steel, museum-grade, storage and preservative cases. She can also just see several archways out of what must be the main room, one of which she thinks is filled with computer servers.

Looking quickly to her left, Nile can see by Nicky and Joe’s faces that this isn’t what they expected either.

A chuckle from beside them tells her that the woman, ‘Man, I still gotta ask her name’, has also seen their reactions and she seems to find it hilarious. The woman says, when they reluctantly pull their eyes from the room, “You are not the first to have that reaction to seeing the Archives. But it never gets old.” That said, she turns and leads them down the stairs and through the maze of cases that even Nicky can’t see over the top of. Nile gawkes some more walking through the room, she’s fairly sure she saw a couple of Rodin’s and maybe a Monet and--’Is that a Houdon?!’

They eventually make it through the maze to one of the archways Nile saw earlier and it’s like the last room, only bigger, and Nile can’t see anything but books and scrolls in these cases, and there’s a straight line down the middle of this room as well, leading straight to another archway that, when they go through this one, shows them a kitchen-dining room, only it seems, to Nile at least, that it’s a lot less updated than the other rooms. The table and chairs are sturdy, but Nile thinks they must be a lot older than they look, and the kitchen part looks like something straight outta the renaissance, with copper pans and other old-fashioned appliances, wooden shelves and work tables to hold plates and cups and stuff, and an honest-to-God cold room to the side, through that at least seems to have a fridge, even if it does look like it came straight from the 50’s. In the dining area, along the walls, there’s dressers and cupboards and shelves that look like a timeline of French furniture, and all of them hold crockery and cutlery that match it.

And stood in the middle of it all is a dark-skinned man with long dread-style hair, silently watching Nile and Joe and Nicky taking it all in. The trio barely even notices the man until he speaks, saying something to the woman in a language she doesn’t know, not that that’s really surprising anymore, surrounded by immortal polymaths as she is. But she thinks Joe and Nicky can understand it, or at least Joe can because of the way his head snapped around to stare at the pair, like he was amazed at what they were saying or speaking.

 _ **“You speak ancient Arabic?”**_ Joe asks, slightly strangled, strangely soothed to hear the tones and words of his mother tongue, something even his Nicky was unable to truly learn.

The man and woman look at him a second, before the woman smiles and says, in English, “Of course. It is Baraka’s mother tongue, and he taught me it just before I was called to be Sentinel.”

The man, Baraka, spoke then, “Of course, she picked it up rather easily, it was more updating her since she was around from the earliest days of arabic. Nanshe speaks more languages than any immortal I have ever met, and she remembers them all. I doubt you could forget if you tried,” he says to the woman, Nanshe. The name rings a bell in Nile’s mind, but she can’t remember where she heard it before.

Nanshe throws her head back and laughs, before nodding in agreement and saying, “Believe me, I have tried my friend. It does no good. Now,” She addresses Nile, Nicky and Joe this time, Andy still out cold in Nicky’s arms, “I brought you here for a reason.” With that she turns and leaves the room through the second archway, leading them into a bunk-room type space. Nanshe walks all the way to the back, past the beds and bathroom door, and stops at what looks like an innocuous painting hung on the back wall. She presses something hidden on the frame and it swings open, revealing a masterpiece of modern tech that looks, to Nile at least, like bank-level security.

Suddenly, Nanshe draws a knife hidden somehow at the small of her back, ‘Where does she keep that thing?’, and slashes her palm then presses that to what looks like a hand scanner. It reads her blood for a second, then it beeps, and the heavy door thuds and clunks as mechanisms release inside it and it swings slowly open, pushing away, into the hidden room. The space beyond is dark for a second, then bright fluorescents hum to life and reveal what the shadows hid.

There, on a bed in the middle of the room, is Quynh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it, The France Archive. And the layout is pretty much the same for all the Archives; a room each for art, written word, weapons, furniture, inventions, etc. and then a kitchen-diner and bunk room(s) and a wash room and a secret room. And the language I imagine Nanshe and Baraka were speaking earlier that surprised Joe is an old form Maghrebi Arabic, a blanket term for North African Arabic dialects. In my head Baraka is about 100-200 years younger than Joe and Nicky and from a similar general region as Joe, or at least spent a lot of time there. I didn't put the Arabic in because I couldn't find a reliable way to translate from it to the Latin alphabet.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so... sorry about the length of this chapter, I wanted it to be longer but it was really difficult to write and refused to go on past the end point anyways, so... enjoy?  
> Also, side note, telling me to update, no matter how politely, is not going to make me update any faster. All it does is make me feel like crap for having work, both paying and un-paying, and worse for struggling with inspiration and energy for each chapter.  
> I put a lot of energy into each chapter, I'm constantly having ideas about stuff and researching stuff about specific historical periods, and to be completely honest I rarely actually have the energy to do it. These chapters are going to come whenever I manage to finish them, that may be tomorrow, it may be in a week, there's plenty of other fics to read while you wait.

**France Archive 2019**

Nile isn’t sure exactly how she knows this is Quynh, but she just is. Just as she’s certain that the IV in her arm isn’t just for fluids.

Joe and Nicky seem shocked, amazed, heartbroken at the sight of their old friend, their oldest friend after Andy. Joe especially looks guilty, like he thought he should have found her sooner, saved her this existence.

They all jump out of their skins when Andy moves in Nicky’s arms, groaning a little as one hand covers her eyes, before she seems to remember just what happened before she went unconscious and her head jerks up, taking them all in before landing on Quynh.

As soon as she sees her, Andy lets out a pained groan, her legs weakly kicking to be put down. Nicky ignores that, choosing instead to walk forward and set Andy down on the edge of Quynh’s bed. He doesn’t back away though, and Joe comes forward to stand shoulder to shoulder with him, a silent strength.

Nile hangs back, not too close but not too far either, circled around the bed slightly to keep one eye on her new family and one on the two still stood in the door. She sees Andy reach out one shaky hand to touch Quyhn’s hair, curling up in it, sees Nicky and Joe lean more on each other. Then her eyes sharpen, focus on the man, and she watches him lean in to whisper something to Nanshe, who gives a short nod in reply and he turns and leaves the room.

She almost follows after him but then realises that Nanshe is still there, and she’s moved away from the door, keeping both hands in plain sight at all times.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’re still like that three hours later, Andy, Nicky and Joe surrounding Quynh’s bed, murmuring words in another language to her, to each other, Nile still watching over them, when they hear a bang from the other room and instantly they all snap to attention. They all produce guns from somewhere and have them in their hands, cocked and pointed at the door. Nanshe is the only one who doesn’t seem worried, just stands there with her hands in her pockets and a small smirk on her lips.

Nile almost drops her gun when Booker is shoved through the door, stumbling to keep his feet under him. She quickly ducks under his arm to help steady him, ending up staying there because he seems to be completely hammered, swaying slightly even with her help. Then she hears him go “Merde.” under his breath and looks to find he’s spotted Quynh.

The other three still have their guns out, but no longer trained on him, and they stare at Booker a moment before Joe hisses, angrily, “Why is _he_ here?!”

Baraka, who had slipped in behind Booker and was by Nanshe again, replied, “Because he needed to be here. Quynh has not been awake for many years. She will need those she knows in spirit as well as those in heart to help her through this pain.” With that, he reaches out and disconnects the bag from the IV.

Quynh is awake in less than 10 minutes, her immortal body burning through the drugs in seconds. The first sign of consciousness is her screaming. Then she starts thrashing, arms and legs jerking less  
than a foot from her body before stopping and repeating. Andy is leaning over her, hands on her cheeks, shouting her name above her screams.

They stay like that for what seems like days before Quynh’s screams slow down, becoming deep gasps instead, Andy still saying her name. It takes even longer for her gasps to reduce into small pants, and then her eyes open.

And Quynh screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merde--Shit


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo yo!!! Yes I am that lame guys, but I digress.  
> We have another chapter, one with a lot of backstory, and a lot of historical references too!!  
> Just as an FYI, for those curious, the Ziggurat of Ur is an old ruined temple from Mesopotamian times found in the Dhi Qar Province of Iraq. As some know, Mesopotamia is the oldest known civilisation, before that humans were nomadic, there haven't been any ruins found that indicate the existence of cities before Mesopotamia, which is basically the Middle East. Also, 44th century BC is around 4500 BC  
> Oh yeah, this is really heavy on the history this chapter guys, just to warn you.

**France Archive Kitchen, 2019**

Silence reigned for some time after Nanshe finished speaking, but eventually Nile asked her, “What happened to the other... Sentinels? And what do you mean by ‘remade’?”

The older immortal looks slightly surprised at Nile’s questions, but then she shrugs one shoulder and starts to speak. “In answer to being remade, it is when our healing slows. We do not know why, and we do not know when, but all immortals will slow healing, sometimes more than once--” she holds up a hand there, instantly stopping the expected slew of questions in their tracks, “--and our healing is reduced to a fraction of what it is normally. It is still better than a mortal will heal, I imagine if you look now at Andromache’s shoulder her knife wound will be well on its way to healing completely. However, remade is only used when an immortal dies during this period of time. Our healing may still be present, but it is mostly dormant, meaning we can still be killed.

“Most of us won’t feel when our healing falls dormant, usually only those who undergo it a second time will recognise its occurrence without harming themselves. But usually, after a period of several years the healing will wake up again.” Nanshe takes a moment there to pause and have several sips of her tea before continuing.

“As to what happened to the other Sentinels, I do not know exactly what happened to them, only what I, and the ones before me, saw in the dreams. The First was young when he had the dream, only 100 at the time. He left and made his decision to join ranks with the Guard, before he was remade during one of the battles for the Rashidun Caliphate, maybe 640 BC. His name was Lykon, and it is rumored that he went with honour. The Second was guarding the Mongolia Archive when he had the dream, and waited for 2 years before he could leave to become Sentinel. He followed the Guard cautiously, a scholar more than he was a fighter, diligent in his recordings and his distance, before he was remade at the beginning of the First Crusade. He was set upon by Seljuk’s, believed to be of the Church because of his European birth, and was outnumbered. He was born where Slovenia stands today, and his name, Miran, is Olde Slavic for peace, all that he ever wanted.

“The Third was less cautious, but no less diligent than the Second in her records. She was wandering between Archives when she had the dream. But she never accounted for the passage of time in the mortal minds. She was caught, as I said, trying to free Andromache and Quynh from the Church during the Witch Trials.” Nanshe looked down then, hiding her eyes and near whispering her next words. “She was remade on a pyre.”

Nile watched her a second, then asked her, “What was her name?”

Nanshe choked, eyes clouded with tears, so Baraka answered in her stead. “Her name was Tashlultum... She was Nanshe’s daughter.”

The room was so silent you could hear a feather drop, so tense you could cut it with a knife. It persisted for a long time as Baraka rose from his seat and gathered Nanshe into his arms.

Eventually, Nanshe calmed back down and pulled back from Baraka to look at the Guard again. She was internally warring with herself before she came to a decision, and explained to them. “Tashlultum was not my birth daughter, she was a babe I had found as I was leaving the Syria Archive when it fell, perhaps around 2300 BC? She was hidden beneath an upturned cart, pillaged by raiders, the bodies of the rest of the caravan all around. But there was not a scratch I could find upon her body, and I knew, I knew that she was destined for the Watch. I brought her with me to the Sahara Archive, and I raised her there, watched her grow from a tiny babe to a strong woman. She had her first death when a local boy took offense to her refusing his advances, and beat her to unconsciousness. I found her, and held her hand as her lungs filled with her blood. When she awoke again, she decided to learn all that she could, and she travelled the world over, staying for years in each Archive to learn all their secrets. She was on her way to the Great Archives for the first time when she had the dream, and... she never got to see it before being remade.”

There was a pause again, before Nicolo spoke this time, asking, “What does her name mean?”

“I was not born with this name,” Nanshe says, “I was originally called En-Hedu-Anna, first child and only daughter of King Sargon of Akkad in Mesopotamia, 10,000 years ago. My mother was Queen  
Tashlultum, his wife. She was kind, and beloved by her people. She influenced many things in Ur, including where my life would lead. She inspired me to become High Priestess of Nanshe, my Lady, the goddess of prophecy and fighting injustice.

“When she died, Sargon became enraged that the gods would take his beloved away without him, and Ur descended into chaos. Temples were pillaged and burned, Priests and Priestesses were murdered, people were beaten for their belief.” Nanshe chuckled suddenly. “It was, in fact, my death that brought an end to the chaos. I was killed trying to protect my Lady’s temple, and I rose again as they were deciding how to divy up their spoils from the temple. They could not believe that I was alive again, especially since all of them had taken turns beating me before crushing my skull, and so decided that I was Nanshe given flesh.

“None believed that it was simply me in my body, especially with my Ladies blessing. And so I became Nanshe, prophetess and fighter of injustice.” She stopped their questions about her ‘blessing’ by showing them her eyes. Only Nile was unsurprised, having seen them herself the night before. “I left when my brother became ruler on Sargon’s death. With me it seems came the greatest belief in the gods, for my temple, the Ziggurat of Ur it is called now, became ruins just centuries after my departure, where it should have stood strong for millenia.

“From Ur, I travelled across Asia and then Europe and Africa, and then across the seas to the Americas, learning as I went. I eventually began construction of the Great Archives about 500 years later. That was when I was joined by another immortal, a man whose name I can no longer remember. But until I came across Tashlultum, I had remained closed off emotionally from everyone and everything. She reminded me so much of my mother that I just had to pass her name on to her.”

Everyone at the table looked in awe of Nanshe, and for good reason. She was over 10,000 years old! Not even Baraka had known her true age, and he doubted any of the other immortals did either, besides maybe Ardashir, though he rarely left his Archive these days let alone interacted with anyone else if he could get away with it.

Yusuf broke out of his awe first, and he took the opportunity to get in some questions of his own. “So, you’re 10,000 years old, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Were you the first immortal ever, then?”

“I don’t know.” For once, Nanshe looked unsure. “I believe so, but it could just have been that humans were so spread out and far between that we simply never had chance to cross paths.”

“Okay, then do you know how old Andy is?” Yusuf smirked, _‘Finally we’ll find out how old she really is!’_

Nanshe smirked in return, well aware of Andromache’s aversion to telling anyone how old she is. “I believe she was born during the 44th century BC. Though I also believe that Quynh is a few centuries older than her. They just took a long time to find each other.”

Yusuf snorted, muttering an, “Of course,” under his breath, making Nile choke on her juice mid-sip with laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that Mesopotamia, for those history buffs out there, was not actually 10,000 years ago, but I just really, for the story, needed Nanshe to be older than Andy. I also changed which god/goddess En-Hedu-Anna was High Priestess for, it was actually Inanna and Nanna. There was also no record of if she was the oldest child of Sargon of Akkad, so I took some creative liberties with that stuff as well. However, the times of the previous Sentinels deaths were historically accurate as periods of unrest/war, i.e. Lykon died during the time of the Rashidun Caliphate, during a 9-year period of multiple battles, Tashlultum dies during the English Witch Trials, etc.  
> I know that when things happened is wrong sometimes in here, but that it happened at all is not wrong. Just when.


	9. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here you have it guys, the next instalment. Sorry about taking a bit longer, but there was a lot to say and I wanted to get it right first. There is a bit of a cliffhanger at the end (I guess???) but the next chapter should be up soon, and it should have some more fun backstory for the Old Watch and stuff. Let me know if you have any ideas for that, or names for other immortals you want me to throw in, or just any critique basically and enjoy!

**France Archive Safe Room, 2019**

Quynh screams. And screams, and screams. She looks at Andy, at Nicky and Joe, and she screams. Booker knows why, or at least he thinks he does, based off of the dreams he suffered for the past 200 years. Quynh often hallucinated as she was drowning, her mind drawing up scenes where Andy has found her, is saving her from her living hell, her eternity imprisoned in an iron coffin. Joe and Nicky  
sometimes appeared too, there to pull her and Andy from the water and onto a boat.

She never dreamed.

An unfortunate reality that Booker thinks even Andy never considered was that Quynh never dreamt in the water, never got even a seconds reprieve from constant drowning and death. She never got to see, to know, Booker or Nile as they knew her pain.

Eventually, it looked like Nile had had enough and she strode forward, pushing Andy’s slack fingers from Quynh with a quiet, but firm, “Enough.” It’s enough to stop Andy from throwing her across the room, and it’s enough to draw Quynh’s attention as well. Almost instantly, as her eyes focus on this new, unknown face, Quynh stops screaming. Then she starts again when Andy moves in her peripheral and her eyes latch on to her.

It is something they verify many times over the next 10 minutes, with Andy, Nicky and Joe, and they find that Quynh only screams when she can see them or hear their voices. She doesn’t with Nile or Booker, Nanshe or Baraka.

“Maybe it’s because she didn’t know us before she drowned,” Nile muses from where she’s sat by Quynh, holding her hand to keep her grounded. “I think I remember her thinking about you guys when I dreamt of her.”

“Yeah,” Booker chips in, ignoring Joe’s glare and Nicky’s reproachful eyes. “She hallucinated often about Andy coming to rescue her, Joe and Nicky pulling them up onto a boat... Being saved, basically.” Andy seems to shrink in on herself at that, something Booker had never seen her do, he doubts even Joe and Nicky have seen her do it. He hates to think he’s hurting her even more, but he knows, just knows, he has to say this next part. “She never dreamed. Down there. Up here.” Baraka had informed him of Quynh’s rescue as he was being dragged kicking into the Catacombs. “She never got the chance to sleep, so she never dreamed of me, or Nile, like we dreamed of each other and her.”

Nicky speaks up then. “So seeing us is making her think she’s still down there?” He looks like someone’s shot him at the knowledge that, however inadvertently, he’s been hurting one of his oldest friends. Joe looks similarly crushed. Andy just seems like she’s in shock, like she can’t take anything more before she completely shatters.

Nile seems to have picked up on Andy’s fragile state because she says, “Maybe we should all go to bed for now, wake up with fresh eyes in the morning.”  
No one disagrees with her, and Baraka leads all of them bar Nile and Nanshe out of the room to show them to their beds for the night. Booker goes out first, mostly because he knows Joe and Nicky will never let him have their backs, at least, not for a long time, partly because he needs to sleep off what’s left of the alcohol he had imbibed after being exiled for 100 years.  
Quynh is sedated on her bed once more.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
Once everyone is laid down and, presumably, asleep, Nile looks at Nanshe for several long minutes. Nanshe stares back but says nothing, and the silence stretches on until Nile finally breaks it and says,  
“Why did you just come with us, back at Copley’s house? And what was with that seizure, or whatever, that you had as well?”

Nanshe was silent, eyes locked with Nile’s, and eventually she comes to a decision and tells her, “I came because my Lady willed it. I Saw because my Lady willed it. I did not see the signs and so I fell as I Saw.”

“Saw? What the hell does that even mean?” Nile demands, voice a low hiss.

Nanshe simply blinks at her, and when her eyes reopen she can feel they are different. No longer are they violet in colour, instead they are pure silver, morphing like mercury in endless ripples.

“Oh.”

Nanshe smiles at her dumfounded expression, and blinks once more, her eyes returned now to violet. She says softly, “You should go to sleep now, we will talk in the morning. All will be explained then.”

**France Archive Bunkroom, 2019**

Nanshe is already awake and dressed when the Guard stir the next morning. She had learned well over her long life to be prepared for any occasion no matter where she was, so she had risen early and gone topside to source enough food for eight immortals, which was the mortal equivalent of 16 people. Their intense healing factor burns up a lot of calories, without taking into account their lifestyles as well, so they always ate well when they had the chance.

She decided after some thought to just get a selection of food from several local bakeries, to avoid arousing suspicion over so much food. Once purchased she made her way back down into the Archive to putter about the kitchen, dragging in another table and chairs from the old dry-store to set the food out over, with several pots and pitchers of teas and juices for them to choose from.

They woke up not long after that, drawn from sleep by the scent of steeping tea leaves, many of which were long since ‘extinct’ in the mortal world. Not long after they were all gathered in the doorway, bar Quynh, who was still sedated for her own safety.

They loitered for a moment, watching Nanshe move around, setting out utensils and crockery for them to use, until she said, back still to them, “You are welcome to eat when you are done watching.”

That got them all moving and she grinned to herself, though Baraka caught it, well used to her brand of humour after so many years.

And then they all were sat at the table, tucking in to French baked delicacies and drinking fresh squeezed juice (Nile and Baraka), ancient teas (Nicolo, Yusuf and Nanshe), and spiked ancient teas (Andromache and Sebastien).

Eventually, when the table is all cleared, Nanshe breaks the quiet that had fallen over them. “So,” she says, voice like an electric shock in the peace, “You have questions, yes?”

All of the Guard nod, each taking a sip of their respective drink before answering verbally. Nile looks about to speak, but a glance at Andromache stays her tongue. Andromache speaks instead, asking, “Why don’t we dream of you?” Her eyes are hard, angry that they were left for so many years believing they were alone.

Nanshe sighs lightly, so soft it’s barely a puff of air, before she tells them, “I won’t claim to know everything for certain about us, but about the dreams, I believe we receive them based upon our destiny. You all were destined to be eternal warriors, fighting on the front lines. We all were destined to be eternal scholars, fighting in the shadows. Sometimes one of the Watchers will begin to dream of the Guard, and we all take it to mean that we are meant to become the Sentinel, destined to record all of the Guard’s actions. We never know when, or who, will receive such dreams, only that they do when the last Sentinel has been remade.

“I received the dreams 500 years ago, as you and Quynh were imprisoned by the Church. The Third Sentinel had been caught trying to free you, and was remade hours later. My dream told me to bring another, that something was going to happen to one of you and I would be unable to follow. Baraka accompanied me, and recovered Quynh 59 years later. He had extracted information from the ships captain, posing first as a record keeper, saying they would need to know to avoid that area, and then as a torturer. It was a miracle he found her at all, had he arrived any later with me she would have been lost for centuries.” Nanshe’s face was grim. “I would not have been able to leave my post to save her.”

She looks up from the table then. Nicolo is nodding, believer in destiny as he is, Yusuf is looking angry but resigned, Nile and Booker look slightly indifferent, they were still young after all, and Andromache looked a mixture between heartbroken and furious, much the same way she had in the 500 years since.


	10. Author's Note

Hey guys, sorry it's taken me so long to post this note, I'd hoped I'd never have to, but I suddenly realised that it's been a while since my last chapter, and I wanted to give you all an update.

I'm not abandoning this fic, because I absolutely still have the inspiration for it somewhere inside me, I just mentally am incapable of writing any more chapters right now. I'm struggling through a lot of mental and physical issues at the moment, which has left me completely exhausted, not to mention having a physically demanding job during peak season in hospitality, meaning I'm running around on my feet for upwards of 7 hours 5-6 days a week, I just don't have the energy to do anything right now, and I don't want to give you guys crappy work because I'm tired, OK?

TL:DR; Not abandoning this work, working through some issues, very tired, don't wanna disappoint you.

I should hopefully have my next chapter up by no later than the end of August, if that.

Stay safe, stay well.


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